“Are you sure you want to go in with your leg like that?” Ethan asked, clearing his throat before glancing at the porch.

“I’m getting my work files, my charger, and the rest of the baby things,” I said.

My father lifted Noah out of his car seat and rested the eleven-month-old high on his right shoulder.

Noah grunted happily and reached both arms toward my tote bag, his small fingers catching the corner of my blue folder before I pulled it closer.

We walked up the three wooden porch steps together, the heavy plastic sole of my boot clacking on each step.